Chapter 2

For a long moment, Marcus had just stood with the woman held in his arms. He barely noticed the burden. Looking at her peaceful heart-shaped face, he found himself captivated.

What has brought you to my door, I wonder? And on a night like this.

It was only when she murmured in the depths of her unconsciousness that he was recalled to himself. He jerked his head up, looking around, though there were no servants abroad at this time of the night. That was a standing order. Marcus found sleep difficult and had a tendency to wander the castle late into the evening. He abhorred the thought of servants seeing him and speculating on his behavior. If it were possible to own a great house such as Valebridge and have no servants, he would do so.

Marcus strode down the long, high-ceilinged Great Hall, past portraits of Valebridge Dukes dating back to the reign of the first King Edward. He climbed the broad stairs at the end of the Great Hall, to the first landing and the long defunct guest wing. There, he kicked open the first door and walked through a sitting room and small dressing room, before finally entering a bedchamber. As gently as he could, he placed the young woman on the plump but bare mattress.

The bed had not been made – he did not receive visitors often, not at all in fact. Standing straighter, he looked around, feeling that he could not leave the young woman lying uncovered in her damp clothes. Seeing no bedclothes and not knowing where the servants kept such things, he instead went to the window and seized one of the thick, velvet curtains. A single, strong pull tore it from its rings and the heavy material thumped to the floor.

Marcus gathered it and carried it to the bed, carefully draping it over the young woman.

She called me Arthur. She thought I was my brother.

But after all, that is what he wanted everyone to believe when he had returned from Cumbria at the behest of his father, only to find him deceased that very day. Left behind were two letters. One, incomplete and clutched in his father's cold dead hand had told him of Arthur's fall into degradation but ended there. The other, in an unfamiliar hand and signed only ‘A', told him that none in the house knew the face of Arthur Roy, that none would know if Marcus took on the name and the title. Told him that Jeffrey Roy had allowed the world to believe that he had only one son, Arthur.

So, Marcus Roy became Arthur Roy. The title passed to him, the family solicitor not questioning his identity, seeing only the characteristic black hair, dimpled chin, and sharp cheekbones of the Roy line. Now, someone had come who seemed to know Arthur, and the deception had worked. Marcus wondered if it would continue once the woman awoke. Perhaps she had been an old friend of Arthur's.

Or a lover? That would put my illusion to the test. Perhaps I should absent myself, allow the servants to take care of her.

But Marcus was intrigued by this golden-haired angel. For that is how she seemed to him as she lay in peaceful repose. Pale-skinned and with hair the color of sunlight. He had briefly glimpsed pale eyes in the dim lamp light by the front door. Blue or gray perhaps. Her features were delicate, fine-boned but with sensuous lips and a firm chin that seemed to speak of strength. She was slim, he could tell from the way her clothes clung to her bosom and hips. Her femininity was decently covered now but he had been very aware of it as he had carried her up the room.

He ran a hand through his tight, black curls and stroked his chin.

A doctor should be summoned, and I cannot leave her to wake alone in a strange room. It could cause her more distress and I do not know her state of mind to begin with. If she was riding alone on a night like this, I cannot imagine it was well-balanced and, in any way, typical. She must have been running from something. Or, running to something. Or someone.

Observing the woman's steady, deep breaths of sleep, he decided to break his cardinal rule and summon Thomas Beveridge, Valebridge's butler. He could have one of the grooms awakened and sent out to fetch Doctor Fuller from the nearby village of Folkington. In the meantime, one of the chambermaids could be awakened to watch over the young woman. Marcus felt an urge to take on that task himself, wanting to remain by her side.

It might frighten her to awaken and see a strange man in the room. Except she does not see me as a stranger, but as Arthur.

He left the chamber and briskly strode to the servant's quarters to wake Tom, resolving to return to her as soon as he could.

* * *

Selina awoke from turbulent dreams, half-remembered but more as vague impressions than specific recollections. Her mouth was dry, and she felt hot. A thick and immensely heavy blanket lay across her and she pushed at it. Opening her eyes, she saw by the dim glow of candlelight, a large room with a high ceiling. A window to her left had one half of a set of curtains and a young woman in the black and white of a maid sat dozing in a chair next to the bed.

Selina pushed at the remarkably heavy blanket before realizing that it was, in fact, the other half of the curtains. For a moment she had no memory of where she was or how she had come to be here. In fact, she wondered if this were simply another dream brought on by the fear and exhaustion of her flight.

That's right! I fled from my father's house on Wind, and I came to…I came to…

"Where am I?" she croaked.

The maid started from her slumber, head lifting from where it had been resting on her chest. Selina swallowed, licked her lips, and spoke again, sounding more human this time.

"Excuse me? Where am I?" Selina asked, trying to lift herself into a sitting position. But she was too weak. Her head felt like lead and her limbs like water.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but you are in Valebridge Castle. If you will excuse me, His Grace asked to be informed the moment you awoke."

She promptly left the room. Selina let her head fall back, the room had begun to spin about her, and she lacked the strength to hold it up. Minutes later, the door opened again, and a man walked in. Selina turned her head and smiled. He looked just like she remembered, if older. The same dimple in the chin. The same tight dark curls. The same high cheekbones and infinitely dark eyes. He stopped just beyond the threshold, staring at her.

Once more, Selina tried to push herself upright, but her arms were not up to the task. After raising her body a few inches, she fell back. The man moved quickly to her side.

"Arthur," Selina gasped, "I was almost afraid that I had been dreaming. But it really is you…"

She reached up with a trembling hand to stroke his face. There was a fine white line along the left side of his jaw. She ran her fingers along it. The touch sent a thrill through her and brought back memories of intimate moments together in the dark, lonely woods that filled the myriad of dells and valleys of the Downs, when they were merely children. He smiled, such a familiar sight, and yet…

He has aged. There is an aspect to his face that I do not recognize. It is the effect of passing years. Doubtless, he feels the same.

"I am here," he whispered.

His voice was accented strangely. She could not place it, but it was not the sound of Sussex that she had expected. But it hardly mattered. He tentatively put his hand to hers and smiled. His touch was strong, yet tender. She immediately felt safe and protected.

"What on earth were you doing, riding alone in this weather?" he asked softly.

"I had to get away," Selina replied, still gazing into those familiar and yet strange, dark eyes.

"From what?" he asked.

But Selina's head was swimming, her eyelids felt heavy, though she did not want to close them. She wanted to gaze upon the long-missed face of her childhood sweetheart. The boy whom she had befriended on many summer visits to her grandmother in Wilmington. The tall, gangly boy who had become a lean youth with coal-black hair and eyes that smoldered when they rested on her. They still did.

She pulled her hand from his and ran her fingers across his lips. He pursed them, kissing her fingertips and Selina smiled, closing her eyes.

"Will you help me, Arthur?" she whispered.

"Of—of course. Just tell me how," he replied earnestly.

But fatigue and fever had swept consciousness away from Selina. Her last memory before blackness rolled over her was the feel of Arthur's lips against her fingertips, as he held her hand to his mouth.